


Permanence

by eiluned



Category: Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Marriage Proposal, Relationship(s), Romance, Wedding Night, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-26
Updated: 2012-03-26
Packaged: 2017-11-02 13:23:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/369434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eiluned/pseuds/eiluned
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"They're stuck in a building that's about to fall apart, pinned down by energy weapon fire, when Clint asks her to marry him."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Permanence

**Author's Note:**

> Mentions of Natasha's past come straight out of my headcanon, which isn't really based on her comics backstory. Since we don't know much about movieverse Natasha, I ran with it and made stuff up.
> 
> This started out as a short little fic, but it just kept growing and growing and growing. Sometimes you've gotta go where inspiration takes you. :D Thanks to Amanda for brainstorming with me and reading this as I wrote it.

They're stuck in a building that's about to fall apart, pinned down by energy weapon fire, when Clint asks her to marry him.

Natasha laughs at first, a short, humorless snort, because this is one of their jokes. Clint makes jokes about the two of them getting married and picking out matching holsters and sniper rifles, and she laughs in response, and they go back to whatever it is they're doing.

Marriage isn't something she's ever given serious thought to, no matter how much she might love Clint. Marriage comes with an inherent sense of permanence that she doesn't know how to deal with. Before they were Avengers, they were chameleons. They slipped in and out of identities as easily as changing clothing, though they always did end up together in the end, as Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff. But as Avengers, they are Hawkeye and Black Widow, and their faces are known, even if their real names aren't.

Clint doesn't laugh, and Natasha is suddenly gripped by that idea of permanence. _Is that what he wants? Is that what I want?_ she thinks, and another blast rocks the building, sending a shower of concrete chips and dust onto them in their hidey hole.

"I... what?" she says, mostly to give herself a second to think.

He swipes a dirty hand over his face. "Ah, nevermind," he says. "It just seemed like a good idea at the time. Y'know, we're probably about to die. Might as well throw it out there."

He _is_ serious, and Natasha's heart is suddenly pounding. She could run through the middle of a firefight without breaking a sweat, but faced with... with _this_ , and she's suddenly scared.

And it's not that she doesn't love him. Natasha doesn't love many things in this world. She loves adrenaline rushes and stealing quiet moments after the rush is gone. She loves a good cup of coffee, soft sheets, and she loves Clint Barton. She trusts him with her life and with much, much more.

She remembers her parents' marriage, which was awful from what little she saw of it. She remembers the feeling that her mother was trapped and couldn't get away, and Natasha _hates_ feeling trapped more than anything in the world.

But being with Clint isn't being trapped. He knows her better than anyone, knows when she needs him to let her go and leave her alone, and knows when she needs him to wrap his arms around her and not let go. Sometimes he even knows that better than she does herself. She loves him more than anything else in the world, so now that she thinks about it, she doesn't really know why her heart is pounding and her palms are sweaty.

He's staring at his bow, but she knows he's not really seeing it, the corners of his mouth turned down into a genuine scowl (not the theatrical frown and accompanying puppy-dog eyes he gives her when he's trying to convince her to watch a _Tremors_ movie marathon with him), and she knows he's angry at himself for asking.

She carefully picks her way over the rubble and sits beside him, pressing her shoulder against his comfortably. He tenses for a second and then relaxes into her, and they breathe together for a moment, listening to the fight raging on outside the building.

"Tell you what," she says, and he turns his head to look at her.

Natasha takes a deep breath. "If we get out of here alive," she continues. "I will marry you."

Clint blinks, staring at her for a second, trying to get a read on her. "You... what?" he says.

She feels the corner of her mouth curving up into a half-smile. "You heard me, Hawkeye."

"Yeah, but..." he stammers and swipes his hand over his face again. "You're serious?"

"When am I not serious?" she says very seriously.

Clint smiles then, and it lights up his face even in the dark of the building. "Okay," he says and kisses her. "Let's get out of here alive."

An explosion brings down the ceiling.

\--

Cap drags them out of the rubble after Hulk tosses away the largest chunks of concrete. They're not hurt, not really, at least not as badly as they probably should be. They have cuts and bruises, Natasha's wrist is sprained, and Clint probably has a couple of cracked ribs, but that's what happens when you grab each other and dive for cover as a building comes down on top of you.

They're all loaded up in the Quinjet, strapped into two of the jump seats since Cap insists on flying because they're injured. Tony took a pretty hard hit, too, and he's strapped into the seat across from them next to Banner, who's also looking kind of shaky after his de-Hulkifying. Thor is in the copilot's seat, and Natasha's not sure that's a great idea, but she's too exhausted to care.

When the jet's in the air, Clint sighs and lets his head fall back against the headrest, his eyes closed. She can't help but bother him a little; he would do the same to her.

"Hey," she murmurs, and he slits his eyes open a little bit. "We made it out alive."

She reaches over and takes his hand, grateful that the hand closest to him isn't the one with the sprained wrist. "Yep," he says. "We made it out alive. So... Vegas?"

Natasha laughs softly, and Clint leans over to kiss her even though the movement makes him grunt and clutch at his ribs. She pushes him back against the seat gently and finishes the kiss, nudging his nose with hers. "We'll talk about that later," she says with a smile, and he smiles back, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

When she settles back into her seat, still holding Clint's hand, she finds Tony and Bruce both staring at them with their mouths hanging open. "Um. What was... that?" Tony asks, wiggling his hand in the air.

"What was what?" Natasha answers, putting on the inscrutable expression that drives Tony crazy.

"I told you there was something going on there," Bruce says with a grin. "Hey Steve! Didn't I tell you there was something going on with Clint and Natasha?"

"Yes," Steve answers without looking back. "Why? What did I miss?"

Clint squeezes her fingers, and Natasha presses her shoulder against his comfortably.

\--

They do it in Vegas because Clint is quite taken with the idea, but Natasha puts her foot down and refuses to have an Elvis impersonator officiate. They end up at the Wynn on a nice April day.

It's not a big thing, just the rest of the team, Pepper Potts, Nick Fury (Clint is a little weirded out by the idea of Fury hovering like a disapproving father, but Natasha is fond of him), and to their surprise, Coulson.

Coulson even offers to walk Natasha down the aisle. She accepts, of course, but she's still surprised and flattered that stoic Phil Coulson would make such a sentimental gesture.

Clint's wearing a tuxedo, but he appears to have lost or abandoned the bow tie somewhere between their room and the chapel. Natasha had sworn up and down that she wouldn't wear a white dress (too clichéd, she thought), but then she found one that was perfect: draping white silk with silver beading on the bodice and what the sales woman called a mermaid skirt.

Coulson, who's traded his usual black suit for a nicer black suit, smiles at her when she steps into the chapel's foyer. Pepper is there and smiling, too, holding out a bouquet of dark red roses. Natasha takes the bouquet with a smile of her own and, resting her hand on Coulson's offered arm, takes a deep breath and it starts.

The main thing she remembers about the ceremony is the look on Clint's face when he sees her. His expression makes her laugh, because it's the exact same face he made the first time he saw her signature thighs-around-the-neck takedown move.

There's a blur of blah-blah-blah-to-have-and-to-hold, and then Clint is kissing her, dipping her like they're on a romance novel cover. The gathered group of four superheroes, two secret agents, and one CEO whoop and cheer, and Clint finally lets her take a breath, grinning hugely down at her.

Tony takes them out to dinner at Bar Masa, where they all eat way too much sushi and drink way too much sake, and Steve nearly faints at the bill. Natasha impresses them all by managing to make it through dinner without getting any food on her dress.

And then Tony takes them back to the Wynn, where they gamble for a while (with Tony's money, of course, much to Pepper's consternation) and eventually end up in some über-exclusive lounge with half a dozen bottles of champagne. Fury makes a comment about putting on his best eyepatch for this occasion, which makes Bruce choke on his drink. Thor is telling a story about how he once led a panty raid on the Valkyries, and Natasha hopes the waitress doesn't overhear. Clint is thanking everyone for everything (he gets particularly demonstrative when he drinks with people he likes), and she curls up against him, his arm around her shoulders.

"Hey, aren't you to supposed to have a first dance together?" Pepper asks, looking surprisingly mellow with a couple of flutes of champagne in her.

"Why is a dance a tradition in Midgardian weddings?" Thor asks, and everyone looks puzzled for a second.

"Uh... I don't know," Pepper finally answers when it becomes apparent no one is coming to her rescue.

"In Asgardian weddings, we dance naked around a bonfire to symbolize the kindling of love before the husband and wife consummate their union on a bed of furs."

Fury snorts into his champagne, and Natasha has to bite her lip to keep from laughing. Clint gives her a sidelong look, then tosses back the rest of his champagne. "Yeah, no naked bonfire dancing. Sorry, Thor," he says. "We did the feasting and the drinking, but I draw the line at swinging my dangly bits around open flames."

Everyone laughs, but Pepper is apparently not going to be deterred. "So? First dance?" she says expectantly.

"Oh yeah," Clint says. "But I don't think the DJ would play Journey in this place."

Natasha elbows him in the ribs, and he grins at her, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. "Journey? Oh god," Tony groans. "At least it isn't that Chicago song, what's that one?"

"'You're the Inspiration?'" Coulson offers, and Tony snickers at him.

"It makes sense you'd know exactly what I'm talking about," Tony says and squishes himself onto the booth between Pepper and Steve. "Okay, Journey. What song?"

Natasha knows exactly what song Clint would pick (he has a habit of singing anytime he thinks no one's listening, and Natasha is always listening), but she lets him go through the theatrics of pretending to think hard about his answer. "'Open Arms,'" he finally answers, and Tony groans and digs a wad of cash out of his pocket, depositing it in Pepper's outstretched hand. "But they won't play that here, so sadly I can't have the perfect first dance with my wife."

"You can dance with her anyway," Pepper says firmly, and Natasha is beginning to feel like Pepper is a particularly forceful mother-of-the-bride. "Come on. This song is nice."

"I don't even know what this is," Clint protests, but Natasha knows he's doing it just to tweak Pepper.

"It's Bebel Gilberto," Fury says. "'Aganjú,' but it's some remix of the original."

They all stare at him in surprise, and he just shrugs. "I like bossa nova," is the only explanation he gives before pouring himself another glass of champagne.

Clint hauls himself somewhat unsteadily to his feet, because after that little revelation, there's no excuse not to dance. With a flourish and bow, he offers Natasha his hand, and she lets him pull her to her feet and into his arms.

She tries to show him the basic salsa steps, but they've both had too much champagne and end up swaying to the song (which is actually quite nice, now that Natasha is paying attention to it), arms around each other's waists.

He presses his lips against her ear. "So here I am, with open arms," he sings softly, "Hoping you'll see what your love means to me--"

"That just may be the sappiest thing you have _ever_ done, Clint," she whispers back. "And I'm counting that Build-A-Bear you made for me with the tiny pistols."

He draws back and gives her a huge grin. "Yeah, but is it working?" he says.

She pretends to ponder the question for a minute. "Maybe," she says. "A little bit."

"A little bit? I guess I'd better sing more."

"You can play it when we get back to the room," she teases. "I know it's on your iPod, along with every other song Steve Perry ever recorded."

"You know me far too well."

When Clint leans in and gives her a long, champagne-flavored kiss, Tony claps his hands together with a laugh. "Okay! Time to let the newlyweds do their thing," he says, grinning and winking. "Now, did someone have the talk with you two?"

Clint flips him the bird, but Natasha breaks away from the kiss. "Don't worry about us," she retorts with a sly smile, "We're experts at that sort of thing."

\--

Clint gets handsy when he's been drinking, and Natasha is very grateful that they're alone in the elevator. He has her pressed up against the wall, and she tries to get him to stop crushing her dress, but he is kissing her with far too much single-minded determination to worry about things like expensive dresses. And kissing him feels so good that after a few seconds, she doesn't care anymore, either.

They have a corner room with windows filling two walls. The drapes are open so that all of the lights of Las Vegas are sprawled out far below them. It would be breathtaking if they weren't so busy trying to undress each other without breaking their kiss.

Clint finally has to break away, groaning, to unlace her dress because she can't reach. "This is beautiful," he murmurs, pressing a line of hot kisses across her bare shoulders, "But I can't wait to get it off of you."

She smiles and helps him carefully pull the dress off of her body, and she makes him wait while she hangs it in the closet. Luckily he's resourceful and uses the time to strip off his tuxedo, and then they're naked and pressed together.

Clint yanks the bedcovers back and deposits her in the middle of the bed, dropping down to bury his face between her legs. He goes slow, oh so slow, and at first Natasha thinks that isn't what she wants. She wants him now, wants to come apart with his cock inside of her and his arms around her.

But he ignores her moans and hair-tugging and slowly builds her up until she's shivering and gasping, riding that fine edge. Her hands find his, and he laces his fingers into hers, gripping tight, and she comes hard, bucking against his mouth.

He waits for her to come down before crawling up her body and kissing her again, sinking his hands into her hair. She loves it when he kisses her like this, like he can't get enough of her, like he needs her more than he needs to breathe. Wrapping her arms around his waist, she pulls him on top of her, and he settles between her legs.

He's so hard, and his body is so warm and heavy on top of hers, and she loves him more than anything else in the world. "Clint..." she breathes when he slips inside of her.

"Oh," he moans, wrapping one arm around her shoulders and sliding his other hand to the small of her back. "Oh, Tasha..."

It's slow, oh so slow, and she wouldn't want it any other way. He is hers, irrevocably hers, and she is his, and she tries to tell him that with every move of her hips against his, with her sighs and gasps, with her fingers gripping his strong back, with every inch of her body.

He is just the right height so that his face is almost even with hers, just a little higher, and it makes this position devastatingly intimate. He gazes down at her as he moves inside of her, rocking his hips exactly how she needs it, and she can feel another orgasm building deep inside. She strokes his back, wishing she could hold him even closer even though their bodies are pressed together as close as they can get without sinking into each other's skin.

She wants to throw her head back when she comes, but he's watching her so intensely that she can't look away. Instead, she bites her bottom lip and whimpers, caught under his gaze, her fingers gripping his back and her legs locked around his rolling hips. "Clint," she gasps when a second burst of pleasure takes her by surprise. "Oh!"

Groaning, he holds her tighter, and his thrusts are a little faster, a little harder. He drops his mouth to hers and kisses her deeply, sucking on her tongue and nipping at her bottom lip, and he breaks away from the kiss to gasp for breath. "Natasha," he rumbles, resting his forehead against hers. "Tasha... love you..."

She brings one hand up to cup his jaw, drawing him back into a kiss. Bracing her heels against the backs of his thighs, she moves with him, taking him in deep and working him inside of her until he's shaking in her arms, his thrusts jerky and uneven.

Clint shouts out against her lips when he comes, a wordless cry that makes her shiver with pleasure. She loves it when he loses control, loses himself in her, loves the way his brow draws together and his body shudders against hers. She loves him more than anything in the world. He is hers, and she is his.

\--

They stagger to the shower, ostensibly to clean up, but end up making love again, braced against the tile wall.

"I thought alcohol was supposed to impair your ability to, ah--" she says teasingly as he comes down, jerking inside of her.

"Baby," he pants, "With a wife like you, I don't think I'm ever going to have that problem."

Later, as they lie in bed together, slowly falling asleep, Natasha realizes she doesn't feel any different now that she's a married woman. She had kind of expected to feel something, but having Clint dozing at her side just feels normal. It feels permanent. It feels like any other night, except now he's her husband, and she's his wife.

He rolls onto his side and spoons her, fitting his body against hers and wrapping an arm around her waist, and she slips her fingers between his on the hand sticking out from under her pillow. He exhales a little huff of pleasure against the back of her neck, and she smiles.

She thinks maybe that permanence she had been so afraid of before had been there, with him, all along, and she's happy with that.


End file.
